


Omelets and Eggs

by shipcestuous (x4ashes4ashes)



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Brother/Sister Incest, Canon Compliant, F/M, Incest, Sibling Incest, i am not the author this ship deserves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 06:21:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7965889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x4ashes4ashes/pseuds/shipcestuous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elliot is in denial about lingering romantic feelings towards Darlene. Mr. Robot is a little wiser. </p><p>One-shot. Takes place in early season two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Omelets and Eggs

**Author's Note:**

> In 2x01, Elliot says that Darlene "comes by" sometimes. This is one of those visits.
> 
> Spoilers for episodes 2x01, 2x04, and 2x07.

It’s a digital clock, and it’s on the other side of the room, but he can hear it ticking. 57. 58, 59. 2:46 PM.

Does that make him crazy? _Crazier_? Is it more crazy or less crazy than his dead father standing right in front of him, just to Darlene’s right? Probably less crazy. But in his own twisted way, Mr. Robot makes a certain amount of sense. A silent clock making sounds, that doesn’t.

Elliot notices the clock, notices the seconds ticking away, because it’s awkward. Darlene is studying him, her elbow resting on the table, her chin propped up in her palm. She hasn’t spoken in 35, 36, 37 seconds. Sometimes she won’t shut up, but today she is keeping secrets, and she’s worried about him. 40 seconds. Her studious, watchful eyes are blue, like his. An unexpected blue, an ironic blue, like the sky. Hackers aren’t outdoorsy. They ought to have heartbeats like keystrokes and eyes like a DOS screen. Even then, his and Darlene’s eyes would be the same. And their hearts would beat the same.

He can’t maintain the eye contact, it’s too uncomfortable. Her penetrating gaze burns, like stepping out into the day from one of those dark little rooms his kind loves so much. The sun of her stare seeks out his shadowy parts.

So he looks at the clock. He looks at the guards. He looks at the other inmates, and their visitors. They are watching him, too, sometimes. He wonders if they assume Darlene is his girlfriend. They probably think she’s too pretty for him, too electric. Like he has caught a butterfly. Darlene does stand out: in her overall shorts they can all see how long her legs are. One unbuttoned strap hangs freely over her back and there’s something curiously erotic about how the front is folded back and hanging low on that side, exposing part of her chest - even though she’s got a loose-fitting tee on underneath. She wore her glorious hair down; it’s pushed back from her face by her heart-shaped glasses. How can they look at anything else?

Even Mr. Robot is looking at her.

“I’m glad you came,” Elliot tells her. It’s an invitation for her to leave. They have nodded at each other, and exchanged a few tiny items of news. He has complained about the food. The visit is complete.

“Yeah, I can tell,”

“No, I mean it.” And he does.

She still looks skeptical, but he has earned that. He is the poster boy for first-rate big brothers: forgetting she exists, falling for her, bringing the governments and corporations of the world down on her, disappearing to jail when she needs him the most, and now he can add a lack of gratitude when she comes to visit him there to the list. It seems like small potatoes compared to the rest of it and yet he can sense that if he just looked happy to see her the rest wouldn’t matter. But he is. He _is_ happy to see her. 

Elliot doesn’t want Angela to see him in here, in this place - but he doesn’t mind if Darlene does. She has been his comrade of prisons past. It’s heartening, even, to have the visit. Or it would be, if she didn’t look so drawn.

“We shouldn’t be in here. She needs you,” Mr. Robot reproaches unhelpfully. He’s angry, even - leaving Darlene’s side to cross his arms and pace. “You got her into this.”

“ _You_ got her into this!” Elliot is quick to rebut, seething. “And if you would have just told me about what happened with Tyrell, we wouldn’t even be in here.”

He didn’t speak out loud, but he can see it on Darlene’s face: she knows what’s going on. “He’s here right now, isn’t he, Elliot? You’re still seeing him.”

Elliot sighs heavily.

“I’m a little jealous. I barely even remember Dad. You get to see him every day.” She gives him a sad smile.

“Don’t be. It isn’t him. A father protects his children; _his_ only agenda seems to be to fuck things up.”

Mr. Robot bristles at his words but doesn’t say anything to defend himself.

“Well he hasn’t kept you out of trouble, I’ll say that.” Darlene casually runs a hand through her lavish hair and then fidgets absentmindedly with the ends.

“It’s fine. It’s under control,” he assures, as if to release her. Another invitation for her to leave, another invitation she doesn’t take. She’s stubborn today.

And there it is again, that skeptical look. It shifts, into something more cryptic: “Angela blames me. She said you changed when I came back.” Her voice is tight.

Elliot chews on the inside of his cheek. Maybe it _was_ her. He remembered the emotion of seeing her at his door on Halloween. The flood of emotion and memories. Getting high, watching the movie. The best night he’d had in a long time. And then a lot of blanks.

He has wasted hours - days, even - wondering when exactly he broke from reality, wondering if he had ever known reality at all. Prison is a playground for these kinds of rabbit holes.  A little morphine to help the existential crisis go down would have been nice, but the routine is its own kind of drug. But when he can’t escape the gnawing self-doubt, he comes back to Halloween, and Darlene. She was there at inception, the inadvertent co-parent of his nightmare child.

Darlene hasn’t given him an out from this frank conversation like she usually does – a chance for him to wiggle free of having to share too much. Her breath is bated as she waits for his response.

“I don’t know what set if off, but don’t ever think you’re not good for me,” he replies, desperate to reassure her. Darlene drops her hair and lifts her blue eyes, which are wide now with surprise, as he leans onto the table between them. “He _wanted_ to keep us apart. He knew you would unravel every illusion he had planted in my mind. All those walls he built. He was afraid of you.” He pauses, pulling back once more against his chair. He shakes his head: “He wouldn’t tell me who you were.”

This is as close as he has come to talking to her about…that thing that happened.

Mr. Robot palms his face. He’s sitting on the edge of the table, his legs towards Elliot but his body still open towards Darlene. “You shouldn’t be talking about this.”

“Leave us alone, won’t you? Just go somewhere, for a few minutes. Wherever the fuck you go, just go there? The truth’s out now. I don’t need you to 'protect' me from _my own sister_ ,” Elliot snaps.

“Don’t you?” Mr. Robot asks, his eyes drilling into Elliot.

Elliot feels that all-too familiar sensation, like he’s about to walk straight off of a cliff. That little gnome inside of his brain is ready to start redecorating again. “What do you mean?” 

But Mr. Robot doesn’t indulge his question.

“Well, it really fucking hurt that you forgot me, Elliot. I don’t know what you must be going through, I know it’s worse, but, Jesus, do you have any idea what that feels like? You’re all I have. Angela, Cisco – they don’t count, OK? They’re not on the same level. The most important person in the world to me _forgot_ that I existed.”

“I didn’t forget you,” he rushes to say. “I just…locked you away in a corner of my mind. He- _he_ locked you away.”

“Thanks, I feel so much better now. You literally changed the locks on your apartment to keep me out!”

Elliot doesn’t understand it himself. Losing Darlene from his life couldn’t be described as anything other than a punishment. Why would he do that to himself? It hadn’t been necessary, it was vindictive.

He’s explaining it badly to her. If she just understood how he felt…

Mr. Robot couldn’t just snip Darlene out of his life – his entire reality had to be altered to do without her. Ripped down and rebuilt. His world changed. How could he tell her that she still meant something to him even when he thought they had only just met? Like his heart hadn’t forgotten who she was. He couldn’t say that, he was embarrassed just to think it. It’s what the Hallmark card would say.

She had felt oppressive, because she had made him feel like he wasn’t anonymous. At first that felt like a dangerous thing, and then it felt like the best damn thing in the whole world.

He remembers the night he kissed her. What it felt like, right before he did it. It felt like everything made sense. It felt like he was _living_. The crushing loneliness of the months before, Shayla’s death and his role in it, the utter insanity of fsociety and what they were doing – that night was a new perspective on all of it. They were saving the world together and there might actually be a place for him in the new order.

Darlene shakes her head, bringing him out of his reverie. “It’s not all your fault. I should have noticed something was up. If I had been around more before, I would have.”

“I changed my locks on you, didn’t know who you were for months, and you didn’t know something was up. That’s an indictment on _me_ , not on you,” he argues. _World’s Best Big Brother._

A ghost of an amused smile dances across Darlene’s face, and it lifts his spirits.

Then it fades: “Angela said something to me, while we were looking for you. Something else, I mean. She said that you and I were never close. Do you think we were never close?” She tilts her head.

She's not going easy on him today, is she? “I think that Angela is an only child, and doesn’t really know what she’s talking about.” He pauses. “I guess we weren’t that close when I forgot who you were.”

He waits to see how the joke goes over. Darlene runs with it: “Not forgot – ‘locked away’,” she corrects, deadpan.

Sure, he and Darlene didn’t exactly talk on the phone everyday but when it’s your sister, you don’t have to. When it’s your sister, you can not talk for five years. She’s still your sister. _But we’re not friends_ ….

Of course they are close. They started a revolution together.

“’Started’ being the operating word,” Mr. Robot interrupts. “Darlene is the only one trying to finish it.”

Mr. Robot wears many hats. At times he doesn’t break the illusion of Edward Alderson. Other days he makes no pretense of being anything other than Elliot’s subconscious. Protector. Instigator. Invisible friend. Id. (He just won't come when you give a little whistle - no blue top hats.) He’s express in his agenda, except when he’s not. And no one shakes things up like Darlene. 

The idea that Darlene is Mr. Robot’s mother, daughter, and sister, all at once, has now rooted itself in Elliot’s mind. It sends him spinning but at the same time it almost simplifies the ineffable and enigmatic relationship between the two of them. Though the way he is looking at her now isn’t appropriate for any of those links. Id, today. Darlene has reclined back as much as she can in the rigid metal chair and slid her legs out, crossed at the ankles. Mr. Robot has taken notice, which means Elliot has.

“He must not like me very much,” Darlene contemplates, after the long, obvious period of silence. “Nice of him to hide me instead of deleting me, though, I suppose.”

 _C:\Bad K-Hole._ _✓Hidden_

Elliot’s eyes snap back to her face anxiously. “You’re wrong. I’m pretty sure you’re the only person he _wouldn’t_ sacrifice if it suited him.”

It’s true. Mr. Robot seems to care about Darlene in a singular way. Others are just pawns, adversaries or allies. But Darlene matters, as a person. His protection extends to her. He worries about her. He doesn’t ignore her when she’s in the room; he watches and listens to her. Was it Elliot’s love for her? Or ‘Edward’ not breaking character?

“I’m glad we talked about this,” Darlene ventures. “I know you didn’t want to talk about it before, but…”

Darlene isn’t the type to blush but a hint of pink lights up her cheeks, and Elliot knows she is thinking about the kiss. Should he apologize again? Or is it better to not even bring it up? She really looks beautiful, slightly flushed like that. Almost like that night, when she was excited and wind-whipped. It had felt like a sure thing, the _right_ thing - their intimate connection couldn’t be denied. He was so humiliated right after she pulled back, rejected, and ashamed he had fucked it up with her. Hadn’t Shayla told him not to ask first? He couldn’t get anything right. He couldn’t have understood in that moment how confused, angry, and hurt she was. There was no other way for her to react.

And yet, her swift rejection came before she had time to process what was actually going on.

Not for the first time – for the too-manyeth-time – he comforts himself that the surprise probably spooked her. She had not expected for her brother to suddenly start sucking her face. Maybe if he had approached it slowly – deliberately but slowly. Maybe if he had really been himself, and not some addled fraction who had been cold and distant and strange with her up until that event. Maybe then…

He really shouldn’t care this much.

“This is your fault,” Elliot fumes, glaring at Mr. Robot.

For once, his fictional companion seems truly abashed. He shrugs, but not nonchalantly: “You know that saying – omelets and eggs. You have to break a few."

“It isn’t an _egg_ you broke.”

“Elliot…?” prompts Darlene softly.

“Yeah,” he answers sluggishly, responding to her earlier comment about clearing the air. But they haven’t cleared the air, have they? There’s still the thing that she’s keeping from him, and there’s still his thing. His list of things.

“Another year and a half. That’s a long time,” she sighs. The remainder of his sentence. It is a long time. It seems longer than ever. “At least I’ll always know where you are.”

“You’re stronger than me. You’re gonna be fine,” he tells her. An invitation for her to leave. This time she accepts, rising slowly with a resigned nod. They’re allowed to hug briefly, under the vigilant scrutiny of the guards. She whispers, “I love you,” in his ear; it’s not something she says very often. He doesn't say it back, but it’s OK: she knows.

Her embrace is tighter than usual, and for the too-short interval granted to them he goes against his nature and melts into her.

They withdraw slowly and their faces are close. He hears the seconds again: 7, 8, 9. He wants to kiss her. Surely she can sense it, but she doesn’t retreat.

But he doesn’t kiss her. A dubious victory for his common sense.

She turns back once more to look at him as she’s leaving, wistful and concerned. Beautiful. A little petulant, because that’s her. He gives his best reassuring smile, which probably frightens her even more.

Mr. Robot is beside him as the guard walks him back to his cell. “That was a close one.”

“What was?” Elliot asks, wary and contrary.

“You don’t have any privacy from a figment of your own imagination. Why don’t you just embrace the fact you have someone that you can talk to about absolutely anything and be honest?”

“I don’t need to talk to you. I’ve got Krista. I’ve got my journal. Journals are good for that.”

“Journals don’t talk back.”

“I like that about journals.”

Sighing vexedly, Mr. Robot readjusted his cap. “Listen, I’m conflicted too. You think I don’t want her?”  Elliot frowns, pensive. This is too fucked up. “I’m not immune to your desires. I want you to have the things that you want. I’m rooting for you, I am your _personal cheerleader_. But these feelings for Darlene are trouble. We don’t need the distraction and we can’t risk driving her away.”

“ _You_ did this to me,” Elliot protests. “If you hadn’t compartmentalized her-“

“Elliot, I don’t play this card very often but I AM YOU.”

“-I never would have tried-I never would have _wanted_ -“

“I don’t have any control over your feelings, kiddo.”

“Stop saying ‘feelings’. There aren’t any ‘feelings’. I was confused that night. I felt connected to her and I thought it was something else. It was just some kind of bleed-through.”

“And just now? I was there. What? You think you just got _caught up in the moment_?”

It sounds absurd when he says it. It _is_ absurd. You don’t want to kiss your sister just because the mood is right. Remembering her - unlocking their history, their kinship - should have fixed that little problem. He fears it only made it worse. Now he remembers, not just that night, but all the moments over all the years when she made him feel…right. Not alone. Not terrified. Just the right amount of crazy to not be one of the normals. Comfortable. Everything he yearns to feel.

Being attracted to Darlene – is that more or less crazy than Mr. Robot? Where does it rank in his tabulation of issues? Maybe it ought to be more, but…It almost makes sense to him. Is that when you know you’ve really lost it? When things start to make sense?

Elliot backs into his cell and collapses onto the bed, suddenly exhausted. Mr. Robot is aggravated with him - he’s pacing in their tiny box and saying something scornful about burying it like they bury everything else. His judgmental tone is ironic, coming from the master secret-keeper. Of all the things to repress, this ought to be at the top of the list. “Do it,” Elliot orders him. It’s for the best.

“Am I holding a fucking wand? I told you, I don’t have control over your feelings. You don’t love and lust at my command. And veiling a memory or two isn’t going to fix this, it’s only going to get you into trouble later.”

It reminds Elliot of Aladdin’s genie and the wishes he cannot grant. It’s almost funny. Elliot pictures him blue and smoke-like. Robin Williams’ voice. He’s almost laughing.  

Mr. Robot managed to bring his father back from the dead, isn’t it all child’s play from there? He feels like he toppled over a ledge. Can’t he just be picked up, dusted off, and placed back at the top again?

“I’m sorry, Elliot. This egg is cracked.”

He shouldn’t want to hide from this. Hasn’t he always judged everyone for sedating themselves, shielding themselves from what they don’t want to see or feel?

OK, fine. Feelings acknowledged.

And ruthlessly shoved aside.

**Author's Note:**

> This was from Elliot's POV so I couldn't really get into Darlene's side of things. Despite her reaction when he tried to kiss her, for this story (and to be perfectly honest, in general as well) I'm sharing Elliot's theory that perhaps under better circumstances it might have gone differently, and so if this story had continued eventually it would not have been one-sided.


End file.
